Egg
by Frodo Silverlune
Summary: Is there a way to convince Frodo to remain in Middle-Earth, or is the task impossible, even for the one who knows him best?


**Egg**

By FrodoBaggins87

Note: I rated this story PG because it has deep concepts. You might not understand this if you're not mature, or not thinking maturely. No language, slash, violence, etc., just deep thinking. And also, it's kindof a companion peice to 'Letters to Hobbiton,' so you might want to check that one out too, although you don't have to read it first to understand it. Enjoy!

* * *

Dear Mr. Frodo-

We're onto you, and don't you think to say we aren't! You're leavin', it's plain as the nose on your face, beggin' your pardon. Don't you think we can see it? I've caught you more than once starin' out your study window with a whimsical look on your face. And how can I miss it when you walk into a room and stare about you, mourning as a departing wayfarer for what will soon only exist in memory, slump your shoulders and leave the room, jaw tight with emotion? You're goin', but the trouble is I don't know where.

I've seen it all. I was there, remember, sir? I saw you claim the Ring, I saw you maimed, and I guided you bleeding from the fiery Crack of Doom. I was there, the only one who knew what was eating your mind. And once again, I am the only one who can save you.

You say not to worry. Dear, dear master, you've always said not to worry! That's been you your whole life, from the time you came to Bag End until now, with graying hair and sleepless nights. I remember when you would strike out into the bitter winter cold determined to deliver a batch of cookies to a family in need of Yuletide cheer. A storm would be coming, and you knew it, I could tell by the cautious glance you gave the sky, but you wanted to give, to give of yourself. That's how you've always been, foolishly sometimes, but always a gentlehobbit. And that trait is what put you here, now. You've always given without any thought to yourself. At the Council of Elrond, you stood up and volunteered your service, only afterward thinking of the ultimate cost. I admire that, Mr. Frodo, it's a fact. There's hardly a one who doesn't. You've always denied it, I think even to yourself. Perhaps you were afraid that if you accepted it, you'd loose it. And that fear is what spurned you on the Quest, isn't it? Perhaps if you thought you were doing this because you were giving, you would re-think your decision and decide to abandon it, everything, for your personal comfort. I thought a lot about that while we were traveling, and I've come to a conclusion.

You are like an egg, sir, beg your pardon. A hard-boiled egg. You are the yolk, the life within the white, which exists to support and sustain yourself in the middle, understand? And the shell is the face you present to the world, I suppose, your final barrier against the cruelties of bitter reality. Let me explain.

The shell, the armour, so to say, exists to protect. And once that is torn down, you are left with the white, which has a little bit more of you. But who are you? I think you've got that definition mixed up, sir. You might think you are the white of the egg, the middle, the cushion, but no! _You_, sir, are the core, the center of your body, without which you will become a nothing, like the orcs, a machine. But Frodo, you are so much more than that! The Ring could not penetrate you, because you hid the yolk so deep within the white to protect it, that you think you've lost it yourself! You hid from the evil, and the white did its duty and fought against the intruder. The white I look at as your body, your blood-flowing, air-breathing body, which does what is has to do to sustain. But without the yolk to motivate it, it is useless.

Don't you see, Mr. Frodo? Your shell may be torn down, your white may be eaten and destroyed, but in the end, _you_ still exist! You rise from amongst the ashes of your physical being and your soul preservers. A flower in a desolate battlefield, bursting with green glowing life amongst the rubble and ruin.

Your body may have been destroyed, Mr. Frodo, but you had the sense enough to hide your soul away from evil.

You see, even though it sounds like the shell and the white and the yolk are all different parts, they exist around the yolk, and they live for it. Don't it make sense, then, that they are all one thing? I hope you understand what I'm saying. I don't mean to sound all mystical, I just mean you, your true self, beyond your personality. You bleed into the white and even the shell, and that sometimes makes you think you have been destroyed, because you see the traits you associate with yourself seemingly defeated in the white.

All this to say, you are not dead! You have not died, Mr. Frodo, and you are not broken beyond repair! Your white, yes. But you are not. Please, sir, don't make the mistake of leaving! Your body is mangled, perhaps, but sir, I am here. I will be your body. I have so much I don't know what to do with it. I need you, sir. I need to give to you, support you and nourish you. What would I do without you? You needn't leave, sir. You musn't. I only hope you understand before it is too late.

-Sam

* * *

Dearest Sam,

What would I do without you? Now I sigh, for my hours are plagued with doubt. Should I go? Should I stay? If you are right, and I stay, what will become of your family? Will you always be torn in two between them and me? But if I go, how could I thrust such grief upon you, to never know whether I am living or dead?

No, you will recover, and go on. How can I tell you the Ring left scars too deep for your touch? I wish with all my heart I could stay, but I cannot do that to you. I cannot divide you from the life you can live without me. Think of Rose. She needs _all _of you, not the half you can spare from me.

So, this is my final gift to you, the gift of a life of happiness. Promise me, Sam, that only when your life draws to a close will you follow, across the sea. I will be waiting.

Frodo

* * *

End


End file.
